Parasite
by StoryLake
Summary: Follows Easter Parade, though should be readable on its own. It's Christmas, and Sarah is unhappy. Her relationship with the Goblin King has stalled, and now a parasitic plant from Underground threatens her world...or does it? Can the season be saved?
1. Merry Christmas, Sarah

**Merry Christmas, Sarah**

_a seasonal Labyrinth fan-fiction_

"You don't mean it, Sarah. I know you don't."

"I do, and I'll prove it. I'll have a boyfriend by Christmas, wait and see." Sarah Williams tossed her long hair over her shoulders and glared at her best friend.

Gi rolled her eyes. "You already _have_ a boyfriend, remember? Jar- what's his name? The Lord of the Dance himself."

Sarah snorted. "Jareth is _not_ my boyfriend, Gi. I've told you that a million times. He's ... he's..." She lowered her voice and stared into the murky depths of her coffee mug. "I don't know _what_ he is. Not really."

Gi shook her head. "I don't get you, Sarah. For months after his last appearance, you mooned around, skipped classes to take naps, and generally behaved like a girl with a _major_ crush." She poured them both more coffee. "I even thought you might be in love..." her voice trailed off on a wistful note. Gi was a hopeless romantic.

Sarah frowned. She was working herself into a right, proper funk, and wasn't about to be derailed. "I can't live in my dreams." She shoved her mug away sharply, sloshing its contents onto the scratched Formica counter. "And I _won't_ live there with him." Her voice was rising again, anger seeping in. "I want a_ real _boyfriend. Someone who will be with me here."

"Why the sudden change?" Gi sipped her own coffee, politely ignoring the puddles that lay like an oil spill at her elbow. "I mean, what you're saying makes sense, but those are all points I brought up before. Why are they bothering you now?"

"I don't know..." Sarah bit her lip, taking a perverse pleasure in that little pain. It was better than the larger one lurking behind her breastbone.

"You don't know?" Gi didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Are you sure about that?"

Sarah leaned forward, her arms stretched out before her, oblivious to the coffee soaking into the sleeves of her shabby, beige cardigan. "All we do is dance. All we _ever_ do is dance." She put her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. "I'm sick of dancing."

"So talk to him, Oh Clueless One. Tell him what you're telling me." She stopped, considering. "Well not the part about wanting a new boyfriend. Leave that out."

Sarah's voice was muffled. "He barely says a word to me lately. We just dance and dance and I don't even think he's enjoying it anymore." Her throat felt hot. Why couldn't Gi have made them iced tea?

It was Gi's turn to snort. "The way you and Toby described him, this guy _lives_ to dance. Why do you think he's not enjoying himself?"

From beneath a curtain of hair that had slid down across her face, Sarah said, "I can just tell. I can tell by the way he holds me. It used to be that he held me as close as he could. Sometimes it was _too_ close, if you know what I mean." She felt her cheeks growing hot and was grateful for her concealing hair. "But lately, it's like he's holding me at arm's length - not literally, but..." she let her voice trail off. For months she'd been dancing with the Goblin King nearly every time she closed her eyes. They were dreams, but they were also _real_. To tell the truth, she wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but what had seemed like an acceptable compromise to the very real problem of their different worlds had begun to seem...tedious.

"You don't think he wants you anymore, is that it?"

Sarah groaned. "I don't know. I think...I think maybe he's disappointed in me."

"Disappointed?"

"I don't think I really want to talk about this anymore, Gi."

"Come on, Sarah. What do you mean? Why would he be disappointed?"

Sarah gave a long sigh, and pushed herself upright again. "It's dark, Gi." As they'd talked, night had fallen. Unlike summer nights which skated gracefully across the land, winter nights came down hard, like a boot. One minute it was light, the next dark. Bam.

Gi reached behind her and flipped the wall switch, bathing the tiny kitchen in their shared basement apartment in a wan, fluorescent glow. "Don't change the subject. Why disappointed?"

Sarah reached for her half-empty mug, now ice-cold, and tossed back its contents in one gulp. She was a big believer in liquid courage, so long as it was highly caffeinated. "Isn't it obvious? I mean, look at me!"

"I don't get it. Have you looked in a mirror lately, Sarah? You're gorgeous! You even make _me_ look plain and boring."

Sarah managed a weak smile at that last bit. No one would ever call Gi, with her short blue-tinted curls and megawatt smile, plain and boring. "Puh-leez." She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant. I wasn't fishing for compliments."

"Like you need to." Gi's tone was flat as a pancake.

"Shut _up!_ Do you want me to go on or not?"

"Please." Flat as the penny Toby had found on the railroad tracks last year.

"I mean..." Sarah struggled, but Gi held firm, her gaze unrelenting. "I mean, I'm not the head-in-the-clouds teenager he swept off her feet anymore. I've changed."

"Uh huh, so?" Gi's gaze could have leveled a building.

"So...I think he expected me to give in by now - to come running to him, run away with him. Fifteen-year-old Sarah would have."

"Bullshit, Sarah." Gi picked up her own mug (empty) and set it back down forcefully. "You didn't care about him then. You thought he was just after Toby."

Sarah shook her head. "You're wrong, Gi. I knew he wanted me, only -"

"He frightened you."

"No! I mean, sort of. Maybe." Sarah slid her hand through a lock of her hair, idly twisting the end around one finger. "I mean -afterward- it was like a dream. I wasn't sure I hadn't just made him up out of all the things I always fantasized about. He was all I ever saw when I closed my eyes. But I didn't know..." She looked Gi in the eyes. "Did you ever want something -something you knew was bad for you? Did you ever find yourself drawn to something that would make other people, _normal_ people, run away?"

Gi considered. "You mean like those one-million-calorie muffins at the coffee shop?" Her serious expression was betrayed by a twinkle deep in her eyes.

Sarah didn't smile. "I mean I spent my transitional years fantasizing about a guy I believed to be a villain, and hating myself for it. Every relationship I had, faltered -eventually- and do you know why?" She didn't wait for Gi to answer. "Because they were too good; too _good_! Don't you see!" A choking sort of half-sob escaped her throat.

"Color me confused, Sarah, but I'm not sure I do. What does all that have to do with _his_ feelings for you?"

Sarah shuddered as a small tremor ran through her. Her fingertips felt hot. Her eyes felt hot. If she hadn't known it was gone, she'd have thought the silver fire still ran through her, seeking escape. "I just think maybe, now that I know he's _not_ a villain, maybe he thinks I don't want him anymore."

Gi rubbed her eyes, trying to follow her friend down that labyrinthian pathway of reasoning. "Let me see if I understand. You think _he _doesn't want you because he thinks _you_ don't want him? Is that right?"

Sarah nodded. "Basically. Yes. Close enough, anyway." She yawned, suddenly exhausted despite the fresh coffee infusion.

"So he's trying to do what he thinks _you_ want him to, right?"

Another nod, miserably this time.

"It's all very gallant, in that light." Gi patted her on the arm, avoiding the coffee splots.

"It's all too much, in that or any other light." Sarah climbed down from the stool and carried her mug to the sink. "I'm going to find some simple guy who's just bad enough to be good." She paused, "Or good enough to be bad. Whatever. And then I'm going to forget all about the Lord of the Dance and his expectations ... and disappointments." She flicked off the light, plunging them back into darkness. "And I'm going to forget about mine too. Goodnight, Gi."


	2. A Parasite

"It's working." Jareth, King of the Goblins and Lord of the Labyrinth, frowned into the crystal sphere perched atop the leather-clad fingers of his left hand.

Hoggle ignored him, or tried to. Formerly a Royal Gardener assigned primarily to the outer wall, he had recently been demoted (or promoted, it depended on how one looked at it) to Keeper of the Sacred Vine -a position that kept him in close proximity to the great Castle Beyond the Goblin City. King Jareth believed in keeping his friends close to hand, but his enemies even closer.

"She's given up on me at last." He banished the crystal with a wave of his hand, and sat back lazily in his throne. "I must say, it took her long enough. I'm quite worn out." He reached for his trusty black riding crop and flicked it idly on the pointed toe of one boot.

Sir Didymus had advised Hoggle to try counting to ten before speaking when he was angry or frustrated. Hunched over several overflowing pots of the sacred vine (Labyrinthaceae*****, a mistletoe) with a watering bag and pruning shears (blunt), Hoggle passed ten, continued on to twenty, and lost count somewhere upwards of thirty; numbers are tricky things in the Underground, and can't be counted on to stay in one place like they do Above.

"Stop muttering, Heggle. It's annoying."

Hoggle spat noisily and threw down his equipment. He turned to face the king, anger etched in every line of his craggy face. "Hasn't the girl been through enough? Must ye yank her heart out too?"

Jareth raised one pointy eyebrow and allowed the corners of his mouth to follow suit. "Oh come now, Huggle, aren't you being just a bit dramatic?"

"Gaaaargh...it's _Hoggle_, and she loves you - you great, prancing eejit. I don't know why, but she does." If looks could kill, the king of the goblins would have been dead and buried thrice over.

"Does she?" Abruptly serious with the kind of mercurial mood-swing only kings can get away with, Jareth threw down his crop and jumped to his feet. Along the edges of the great room, several goblins, sensing a show, had sidled from the shadows and were watching intently.

"She's unhappy." The king began pacing a well-worn path in front of his throne. "If she loves me, why is she unhappy?" No one in the room was foolish enough to attempt an answer.

Except Hoggle. "Maybe because yer a megalomaniac, overbearing, cross-dressing Indian-giver!" He spat again, with relish, just shy of the king's boots. The goblins edged closer, eyes wide.

Jareth was across the room in two flicks of a fairy's wings, hoisting the angry dwarf by his collar until they were eye to eye. Hoggle stared at him, defiant.

"You're certainly braver than you used to be." Jareth smiled sharply, all menace and teeth. "Perhaps your new position has given you ideas above your station, hmm?" The goblins, as one body, held their breath.

"You don't scare me," rasped Hoggle. "You won't hurt me, 'cause you know _she_ would never forgive you!" He kicked his stubby legs, a futile action as Jareth merely held him at arms length, grasp never faltering.

"Has _she_ ever called you, Hoggend? Ever dropped by for a cuppa? Ever sent you a letter?" Hoggle was shaken so hard his teeth rattled. "No? Do you know why?" Jareth swung around and dropped Hoggle abruptly into his throne, then leaned close. "She wants to forget you -and not just you, Hogbrain. She wants to forget _all of us_. The whole Underground, the Labyrinth, everything."

Jareth leaned back, anger dying down like a fire, burnt to ashes. "She wants to forget _me_," he said quietly, and vanished. _Pop._ The goblins released their collective breath and grumbled their disappointment. Really, the King of the Goblins wasn't what he used to be.

* * *

Sarah was dressed in black. It wasn't very festive, but it suited her mood. Plus, it made her hips seem slender. She thought this might be beneficial in the new-boyfriend acquisition process, though she wasn't entirely sure. After all, weren't women with broad hips intrinsically better-suited for childbearing? And weren't men subconsciously attracted to women who would bear healthy children? Not that she planned to do so for some time, but she wanted to appear as potential-mate-friendly as possible.

She sighed and kicked at the long icicle fingers that reached downward from the frame of her car. The problem was - and if she was being honest, it was only one of _many_ problems - she didn't tend to find herself attracted to the sort of men that would make excellent potential fathers. She liked rogues, edgy sorts who went their own way, did their own thing, and did it wearing copious amounts of leather.

_And that is why I'll never get married, will have my heart broken 1,000 times, and will end up an crazy cat lady living in a one-bedroom, rent-controlled apartment with a broken water heater. Brrrr._ She gave one last, vicious kick at a particularly large icicle and then wrenched open the door of her car. Sliding herself into place, she put her key in the ignition and said a little prayer that it would start - and that the heater would work today.

The problem with having your own car, was that then you _had your own car_. You had to keep it gassed-up, keep the tires filled with air, have the oil changed and a hundred other annoying things. Anything and everything could go wrong, and to top it all off, you had to freeze your fingers off scraping snow and ice from it during the winter. New England winters were long and hard, and Gi's basement apartment didn't come with garage privileges. What had sounded so exciting three months ago as college was starting back up in September, was proving a burdensome disappointment in frigid December. She'd already had to have it towed _twice_ during that time, which had used up all of her extra money.

_No more_, she thought as the engine rumbled to life and the heater, thank goodness, started up. _If it dies on me again, I'm leaving it at the side of the road. _ She meant it, too.

She switched on the radio, grimacing as the strains of Christmas music flowed from the speakers. Switching stations didn't help. It was the week before Christmas and options were limited. She mashed her thumb on the power button to turn it off and put the car in reverse, checking her rearview mirror as she did so. That's when she noticed the mistletoe hanging there.

If mistletoe could whistle innocently, that's what this sprig would be doing. Sarah glared at it.

"Who put you there?" The mistletoe didn't answer. She yanked it down, tossing it onto the passenger seat.

There was something about that mistletoe that tugged disturbingly at the wispy strands of her memory. It didn't look like the white-berried stuff Karen stuck on every lintel this time of year. It didn't look like the red-berried variety so popular in Christmas graphics. It had berries that glinted in the sun like little crystals, not white, but not-quite translucent, like frosted glass. Its glossy, pointed leaves were greener than green, as though someone had painstakingly waxed each one. It seemed ... _familiar._

She shook her head and returned her focus to backing slowly out of the pitted driveway. There were more important things to worry about than foliage. She hadn't been to the college in three days, and she needed to check her mailbox. She was staying with Gi while the college made repairs to her dormitory, which had suffered an unfortunate accident involving fire and water damage last spring. It hadn't seemed worth it to go to all the trouble of redirecting her mail, especially since she got so little of it. Now, though, she was expecting something. Toby was in Mexico with their dad and Karen, and had promised to send her a postcard.

Thinking about Toby intensified that nagging pain in her chest. This was the first time they wouldn't be together for Christmas, and she knew he was as unhappy about that as she was, but Karen had research to do for a new novel (tentatively titled, _Hola Hearts_ ) and had talked her dad into putting some of his accumulated vacation time into a month south of the border. Sarah couldn't go, of course, because she had classes for the first half of the month. Karen knew she would understand.

Toby had campaigned hard to be allowed to stay with Sarah and Gi, and Sarah herself had tried to play up the "couple's vacation" angle to get Karen to agree, but in the end, he had to pack his things for a much warmer clime. Apparently it was okay for _him_ to miss two weeks of school. Sarah had had to hang up the phone quickly, after Toby broke the news to her, in order to avoid bursting into tears where he could hear her. She had a feeling that Karen had not forgotten how sad and boring her Easter basket had looked next to the one the goblins had put together for Toby, and wanted to avoid a repeat of that with his Christmas stocking.

_HONK! HONK! Beeeeeeeeeeeep!_

Sarah screamed and slammed the brakes -too hard. The pick-up truck that had sounded the horn swerved to avoid her and clipped a row of mailboxes as it sped past. Sarah's car fishtailed wildly before plunging into a snowbank across the street. Sarah was flung forward, hitting her chin on the steering wheel before having her neck crack sharply backwards. The world went swimmy before her eyes, its edges fading to black.

_Oh great, _thought Sarah, _now I'll never get a date..._

* * *

*****Like its Aboveground cousins, Labyrinthaceae is dependant on help to pollinate its blossoms. Such help Above generally takes the form of insects or birds; the Labyrinth has none, at least none that have any interaction at that level. But the Labyrinth is home to a wide variety of small fairies, several kinds of which are very fond indeed of the berries produced by The Sacred Vine. The fairies collect the berries, traveling from vine to vine, wings giving passage to miniscule grains of pollen as they go. The mistletoe, in return, feeds directly on the magic of the Labyrinth itself. It bleeds off dangerous excess, and keeps dark forces weak enough to control.

For millennia, there has been balance.


	3. A Pain in the Neck

A tall, thin shadow detached itself from the large maple tree in the front yard and began moving toward the car that protruded from the snowbank across the street. A pair of squirrels rooting in a clear patch watched it curiously. The shadow was more shimmery than dark, and kind of floated above the snow, leaving no prints. The squirrels quickly lost interest, finding buried seed pods much more to their liking.

Suddenly the front door of the house was flung open and Gi came barreling down the walkway. "Sarah! Are you okay? Sarah!"

The shimmery shadow hesitated, then stopped. It stood still and watched as the blue-haired girl slipped and slid across the street to the steaming car.

"Sarah!"

It was a matter of moments before the girl had liberated her friend. The shadow watched as they returned to the house. When the door had closed behind them, it glided forward.

On the ground just outside the driver's side door, a few spots of blood stood out in sharp contrast to the white, snowy road. The shadow hovered over them, and about its figure there was a suggestion of wings. It was enough to startle another squirrel into changing direction.

No one else observed it, but if they had, they might have seen a tall man, clad in shimmering feathers, brush his fingertips over the snow. He was visible for only a moment, and then he was gone.

Sarah woke to find herself on the old sofa in Gi's living room. She was still wearing her winter coat, a boon as the room was cold, and a crocheted afghan had been tossed across her legs. Someone had removed her hat, and gloves, and placed several small, soft pillows along her side. In her mouth was the metallic taste of blood, and her neck ached abominably.

"How are you feeling?" Gi was out of sight behind Sarah's head, but Sarah didn't need to see her face to hear the disgust in her voice.

"Peachy," said Sarah, declining to try and turn her head. "No...scratch that. I feel like I backed my car _hard_ into a snowbank."

Gi stepped around to where Sarah could see her, hands resting on her hips like a fishwife, ready to scold. "Well gee, there's a reason for that, isn't there?" Her voice trembled, just a bit. "You scared me to death, Sarah. There was _blood_!"

Sarah reached a finger up and touched the corner of her mouth. "Well you try slamming your face into the steering wheel and not bleed. How do I look?" She winced when she tried to move her head.

"Better than you should!" Gi stalked into the kitchen, calling out over her shoulder, "You should probably have a neck brace for that whiplash. I'll take you into town if you want me to."

Sarah ignored this. "What about my car?"

Gi returned bearing mugs of tea. "What about it?" She placed the mugs on the coffee table and regarded Sarah crossly. "Can you sit?"

Sarah groaned. "I think so." She slowly pushed herself upright, keeping her neck as still as possible. "Don't we need to get it out of the snowbank?"

"Can you steer?"

"Huh?"

"The _car_, doofus. Can you steer it? With your neck?"

"No, but I think I can steer it with my hands." Sarah permitted herself the tiniest of smiles.

Gi frowned. "I'm glad you think this is funny. Let's go. You steer and I'll push." She headed for the door. Sarah reluctantly followed.

Everything was too bright. The mid-day sun was caught and held in every particle of snow, creating a brilliant field of light. She grimaced and wished for her sunglasses which were lost somewhere in the boxes of stuff from her dorm that sat unopened in Gi's storage corral. Squinting she peered across the street. "Is that my car? What's all the green stuff?"

Gi was ahead of her, but had stopped just shy of the curb. "You gotta see this, Sarah."

Sarah caught up, eyes still focused on the greenery draping her vehicle. "Is that...mistletoe?"

Gi nodded, too stunned to say anything else.

Sarah's car was only visible in patches. What wasn't buried in the snowbank, was covered with shiny green leaves and crystal-bright berries that sparkled like diamonds. The whole car looked like a giant disco ball that had been caught in a compromising position with the Christmas greenery.

"Hedge clippers?" ventured Gi at last.

But Sarah had finally remembered where she had seen that particular variety of mistletoe before. She shook her head. There was no way that hedge clippers were going to help.

"Let's go inside," she said at last. "There's somebody I need to call."

* * *

Hoggle's face in the antique mirror above Gi's dresser was blurry and his image flickered constantly like an old television set. But he was there.

"I did it!" Sarah rubbed her hands together and grinned at her old friend. "I could never make it work before."

Hoggle's bushy white eyebrows were half raised in surprise and pleasure. "Sarah! I knows ye still needed me." He snorted. "Goes to show what some as are too high-and-mighty -"

"Hoggle," interrupted Sarah, "I need you!"

"Huh? Well ye called me, didn't -"

"It's here, Hoggle. The mistletoe. I need you to help me get rid of it before..." her voice trailed off uncertainly. She knew without quite being sure how, that _something_ terrible would happen if it wasn't kept in check, she just couldn't remember what that something was.

"Mistletoe?" Hoggle scratched his head. Sometimes Sarah didn't make a lot of sense, but he loved her anyway.

"Mistletoe. Mistletoe! You know, with the little crystal berrie..." _Oh crap, what was it called? The sacred..._ Inspiration struck. "The sacred vine, Hoggle! That's what it is!"

Hoggle peered at her intently. "Not sure we got a good connection, Sarah." He tapped on the glass and smushed his bulbous nose flat against it. Despite herself, Sarah drew back. Gi tittered.

"I thought ye said The Sacred Vine was Above," Hoggle chortled. "That would be a trick, no doubt."

"No trick, Hoggle. It's here. Can you help?"

"It's a parasite, ye know," groused Hoggle. "Feeds on the magic, it does. Which is why -"

"But there's no magic here!" _Not since Jareth had taken back the little he had gifted her with, anyway._

"Well there must be," said Hoggle reasonably. "Maybe ye jus' ain't seein' it."

The image in the mirror wavered and a sort of mist seemed to crawl across it. Sarah reached out and tried to blow it away, but her breath had no effect. Hoggle was saying something else, but although she could see his lips moving, no sound was reaching her.

"Hoggle! Hog-gle!"

In the mirror,the image of her friend mouthed more words she couldn't make out, then looked back over his shoulder. When he turned back to her, his expression was panicked. He waved, and the mirror became simply a mirror once more. Sarah was left staring at her own face, which given the bruising around her chin, was not a pleasant sight.

She paused. Turned to Gi. "I look terrible."

Gi nodded. "You do, but it will fade."

Sarah shook her head. "That's not the point. I _look_ terrible. Why didn't he say something about that?"

Gi had no answer, and neither did Sarah.


	4. A Vine in the Hand

"...'e knows...no, 'e doesn't know. No! He doesn't know 'e knows..." Hoggle scratched his chin, which caused him to trip over his own feet and stumble head-first through the kitchen archway. He never could do two things at once. There had been a noise. There had definitely been a noise, not that he saw anything when he stepped out of the dank closet optimisically called his "office". A thin, scraping sound had crept up to his ears, and thinking to follow it to its source, he had set out for the kitchen.

A few chickens that had been rooting for bugs amongst the filthy straw looked up at his arrival, but then quickly resumed their business. Hoggle sneezed and climbed to his feet. He shook his head sadly, "Who am I kidding? 'E knows everything!" The chickens declined to comment. Hoggle sighed. This was a problem if ever he knew one. And he knew one. Actually, he knew several, the largest of which was a glittery pain-in-the-rear and no mistake.

"Hogstar."

_Speak of the devil._ Hoggle scratched the general area of his pain but did not turn around. _Let 'im call me by me proper name fer once._

"Hoogle." The Goblin King's voice had taken on a sharp edge, like those found on the row of kitchen knives hung tidily to one side.

Hoggle winced, but kept his gaze focused on the more daring of the chickens: a black-and-white hen who was periously close to the hearth and its fire. The daft bird was practically nose-in-the-ashes. Hoggle's stomach rumbled. He did love chicken soup.

A strong hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "I say _Hoggle_. It's a dangerous thing to ignore your king, hmm?"

Hoggle shrugged violently, but was still surprised when the hand released him. He turned. "So ye knows my name after all. Imagine that."

Jareth ignored the barb. "I felt some magic just now; from your... _office_, I believe." He bent down until they were eye to eye. "Were you speaking to someone?"

Hoggle swallowed hard. "No...no...noes. I weren't." He looked at his shoes, at the king's boots, anywhere except Jareth's eyes. "You said it yerself. Nobody ever calls me."

Jareth put a finger on Hoggle's chin, drawing his gaze. "I think you're lying."

Hoggle was sweating now, but tried hard not to show it. "I am _not_! You can trust ol' Hoggle not to take any calls from any gals at anytime. Nothing doing."

The Goblin King's eyebrows rose into twin peaks above his narrowed eyes. "And _which_ gal, precisely, would you _not_ be taking any calls from, hmm? Sarah, maybe?"

Hoggle backed up a step, nearly tripping over another chicken. "I don't know _nothing_ 'bout it! Ye hears me? Nothing!" Barely an arm's length away, the knives measured his bravery and mocked him in their sheaths.

The king pressed his advantage, coming thisclose to the little dwarf, but stopping shy of a touch. "Do you want to know what _I_ think? I think you've been Above, watching her, hiding in shadows like the unseemly coward you are." As Hoggle cringed away, he continued, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face, "Come, come, Hedgewort. Where's your bravery now?" He moved backward, widening the gap between them. "Oh I'm sorry, was I being overbearing? Pompous maybe?" His words were razor sharp.

Hoggle sat down hard in the straw. "I didn't do it. I don't know _how_ the Vine gots there..." He stopped mid-sentence. _Whoops._ He glared at Jareth. "Ye don't trust me. I can't do me work under these conditions."

Jareth's smile grew wide and predatory. "You tried to kill me. Or have you forgotten? I think under the circumstances, my _trust_ is the least of your worries." He straighened. "Enough of this." The Goblin King drew himself up to his full, impressive height. "You will go Above and take care of the problem."

"Me?" Hoggle's protest was as squeaky as his new, midwinter boots. The king glared at him, long fingers tap-tap-tapping on one thigh. "I can't -"

"You _will_."

And just like that, the Goblin King was hovering over him, lovingly caressing a crystal in his fingers. Hoggle saw his life flashing before his eyes and something unpleasant seemed to be happening in his bowels. He farted impressively; the stench of fear made eye-wateringly real.

Jareth's right eye twitched, but he gave no other indication that he noticed anything unpleasant. "You'll take care of this problem," he told his trembling subject, "or I'll promote you _again._"

Hoggle gulped, scrabbling backward until he hit up hard against the raised stones of the hearth. "But they'll see me..."

The king shook his head and smiled. "Oh don't worry, _Hoggle_. You'll fit right in." And with a flick of his wrist, the crystal shattered and Hoggle's world faded to black.

* * *

"Sarah, come _here_." Gi gestured furiously at her friend from her perch by the front window. As it was a basement apartment, the window was very high on the wall, but it had a wide ledge that the girls had made into a sort of window-seat, excellent for naps or merely watching the squirrels frolic on the lawn. Of course, you had to climb on an armchair to get up there. It required some upper-body strength.

Sarah had been washing dishes in the adjoining kitchen, a feat made rather more difficult when you tried to do it without bending your neck very much. With a feeling of some relief, she shut off the water, wiped her hands on the backside of her jeans, and walked out to join her friend. "What is it?"

"Some old guy is poking around your car." Gi scooched to one side so that Sarah -who had stepped up onto the chair and was now leaning forward onto the ledge - could see. "He looks like Santa Claus!"

Sarah shaded her eyes and squinted, but the sun and snow were too much for her to see very much at all. She did make out a figure in red moving down in the street, but that was it. Climbing back down -awkward due to her neck - she rooted around for her boots and then her coat. "I'm going out."

"No kidding," said Gi. The blue-haired girl slithered from her seat and followed Sarah. "Wait," she called as her friend opened the door. Sarah spun around. "Take this." Gi thrust a long, hollow poster tube at her. "Just in case."

Sarah started to protest, thought better of it, and mutely accepted the tube. _Fat lot of good this will do if it's some car thief._ She moved through the door, and Gi slipped out behind her.

The two girls moved slowly across the snowy walkway. The afternoon was a quiet one, and as they drew closer to the street, they could hear the figure muttering as it pulled at the vines encasing Sarah's car.

Sarah listened intently for a moment, stopping Gi just shy of the main sidewalk. _Oh no, _she thought, _it can't be..._ "Hoggle?"

The figure was halfway through the passenger-side window now, but at the sound of her voice it started, bumping its head. A stream of extremely creative profanity came pouring out of the car as the figure pulled out, revealing itself to be a small but stocky old man with a thick head of snow-white hair that flowed down his back and around the front of his face to form a lush, full beard. He did, most definitely, strongly resemble Santa Claus.

_Except of course, _ thought Sarah wryly, _ Santa would never swear like that. Or look that grumpy. _Her face broke into a broad grin, and -thrusting the tube back at Gi - she ran across the street and threw her arms around the grumbling figure. "Hoggle! I'd know you anywhere!"

The old man looked shocked, or possibly scared, or maybe both. "No, no, no," he began, "I'm not Hoggle. _Hoggle_ is safely Underground where 'e belongs, minding 'is own business." He shook off Sarah's arms and stepped back, nearly losing his footing on the slippery street. "I'm - I'm -" his eyes darted frantically around him, before snapping back to Sarah's face. "I'm Mr. Vine. And I've come about your problem."

Sarah choked on a laugh, tried to cover it with her hand, and started coughing instead. Her eyes began to water. "_Mr. Vine?_"

Gi came up behind them. "Is everything okay?" She looked suspiciously at Hoggle. "Who is this guy?"

Hoggle was pulling at his beard in a way that suggested he wanted to rip it off of his face. Sarah was still giggling. She linked arms with Gi, face flushed and giddy with delight. "It's Hoggle! You know, from the mirror! He's come to help with my ...problem." A glance at the car seemed to send her into near-hysterics.

"I'm _not_ Hoggle, I tells ya," fumed Hoggle. He was not having a good day. The stupid beard itched and he was too large; it was awkward.

"Oh I'm sorry," gasped Sarah in between fits of laughter, "I meant this is _Mr. Vine!_" She fell to one knee in the snow, tugging on Gi.

"I don' see what's so funny," said Hoggle peevishly.

Gi helped Sarah to stand again, keeping one eye on the little man as she did so. "Are you _sure_ this is Hoggle?" she asked. "He looks different."

"Gah! Of course I looks different, 'cause I ain't Hoggle! I'm Mr. Vine, okay?" He jerked a fat thumb back at the overgrown car. "And you got a serious problem here. _Very_ serious." He tried to avoid looking at Sarah, who was still alternately laughing and coughing.

"Well if you're _not_ Hoggle, then how do you know about this problem? Where are you from?" asked Gi, ever reasonable.

"I...I..." Sarah was trying to speak, but no words would form. The water on her face was beginning to freeze and it was difficult to breathe. Her neck felt like it might just break right in two.

Hoggle looked from the car to Sarah and his eyes grew wider than wide. "Get her out of here!" he said to Gi, "It's hurting her. Get her _away!_"

Gi put her arm around Sarah's waist and hauled her away from the car. When they reached the far side of the street, Sarah's coughs grew less and she stopped, planting her feet solidly in the snow and refusing to go any further.

"I'm _fine_," she insisted, as Gi kept trying to pull her toward the house. She looked back at Hoggle, moving her whole body to avoid twisting her neck. "I don't know what happened..."

Hoggle shuffled over to them. He eyed Sarah curiously. "I don' know what _he_ did to ye, but stay far away from that plant. Up here, you call to it like ale to a goblin." He spat. "Fine mess this is. What does 'e think I'm going to do about it anyway?"

It was a question without an easy answer.


	5. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like

"It's better this way, Hoggle." Sarah had her hands wrapped tightly around her chipped mug of beer. She had taken one sip, just to be polite, but had no intention of drinking any more. Cold beer was one thing, but hot beer was something else altogether. Hoggle had insisted it was just the thing to warm them up, settle their nerves. Apparently refrigerators weren't too common Underground. Still, Sarah thought actually _heating_ the beer had been going a bit too far... She sighed.

"I'm _not_ Hoggle," said Hoggle, "but if I _was,_ I'd be inclined to agree with ye. Except -" he waggled one fat finger in front of Sarah's nose, "youneed to come below so _a certain person_ -" Hoggle looked around furtively, as though afraid of who might be listening. "-can protect you." He grimaced and took a hearty swig of his steaming beer, followed quickly by a satisfied belch. "Ah, that's the stuff. Almost as good as that ye can get at _The Dead End_."

Gi choked on her own beer and stifled a smile. "Why Mr. Vine, does _a certain person_ want to see Sarah after all?" She gave Sarah a sharp glance, which her friend avoided by studiously investigating the whorls of steam ascending from her mug.

Hoggle looked surprised. "Well of course 'e does. He din' mean what 'e said 'bout bein' glad she was tired of him..." he clapped a hand across his mouth, the exposed part of his face turning a dull pink.

Sarah's head snapped up, which made her groan. She rubbed her neck while she stared at the little man. "Jareth thinks I'm tired of him? And he's _glad?_"

Hoggle leaned over the table, eyes wide and fearful. "Shhh! Ye don' know who might be hearin' what we say." He sat back down and cautiously took another gulp of beer. "I don't know any Goblin King, but if I _did_, I'd think 'e just wants you to be happy." He looked at her curiously. "Are ye happy now?"

Sarah gave him a small smile. "Hoggle, you are, without a doubt, the absolute _worst_ liar I have ever known." An image of a toothy-grinned, fluff-haired, drop-dead sexy man popped into her head and winked. Her smile became a grimace. "And that's saying something. Trust me."

Hoggle looked hurt. He drew himself up and glared across the table. "I happen to know that Hoggle is an _amazing_ liar. He can lie the pants off a bog-wight, not that 'ed ever do such a thing..." He took a pull on his beer as though to console himself, and continued, "and o' course he's much better-looking then me, no doubt. Not that I'm any judge of such things." He shook his impressively full head of hair. "If I told ye once, I told ye a hundred times, I'm _not -"_

"You're not Hoggle. I know. I get it." She eyed him critically. "I _do_ think he must have had Santa Claus in mind, though. I mean, come on, a _red_ suit?"

Across the table, Gi giggled and drained the last drops of her own beer; a lusty belch punctuated the sudden silence, causing Hoggle to smile at her in a thoughtful way.

"I like a gal as can hold 'er own," he said to Gi, who blushed mightily.

Sarah just stared at them both. "Is it possible that we can get this discussion back on track? Today maybe?" She shoved her mug away and got up to switch on a light. "And why is it so damn dark in here? I _hate_ winter! And I _hate_ this apartment!" She slammed a hand against the wall. Her neck still hurt, and her head was beginning to feel foggy again.

Gi and Hoggle exchanged a pregnant look, then turned backed to Sarah.

"I can get rid of the vine on yer ... yer... whazzit called? But it'll probably jus' come right back. Terribly stubborn stuff, it is. Once it gets a foothold anywhere, it's almost impossible to get it out. Be-_lieve_ me. I know." Hoggle looked wistfully at his now-empty mug. "Any chance o' a refill? No, no...never mind." He climbed to his feet. "I best be off." He jabbed a finger at Sarah. "Stay inside while I'm working, ye mind?"

Sarah nodded. Everything was beginning to look a little gray around the edges, and her head felt as though she had personally downed three mugs of the beer, though in truth she'd barely touched it. "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes." She started for the small bedroom she shared with Gi, then stopped. "But Hoggle? I mean... Mr. Vine? Please wake me before you leave for good." She disappeared, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

Hoggle looked at Gi, then at his feet, then at Gi again. He seemed to making-up his mind about something. "I could use a bit of help, if ye don't mind," he said carefully, hopefully.

Gi's face lit up with a grin like the sun after a storm. "Let's go," she said, and reached for his hand.

They got as far as the front door. Hoggle tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge. Gi helped, and at last they forced it open, only to be confronted with a thick curtain of mistletoe covering the opening.

Gi poked it experimentally. "Now what?"

Hoggle's face had drained of all color, and he was muttering under his breath. "Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad. This is really, really, really..."

Gi poked him instead. "I said, now what?"

Hoggle wasn't looking at her. His gaze seemed lodged somewhere in the mass of tangled greenery. "...really, really, really, _really_, bad..."

Gi leaned over and kissed him -full on the lips. His eyes grew wide and snapped to her face. "Wuh...why'd ye do _that?_"

Gi grinned. "Because I wanted to. And because I need your help."

Hoggle groaned, but his insides were quivering like a Christmas pudding. A warm feeling was creeping around the back of his neck, making him feel very strange. "Of course you do." He patted her hand, which made him feel even warmer. He swallowed hard, and muttered just beneath his breath, "Somebody always does."

* * *

The Goblin King was in a private garden -his favorite, which also happened to be the smallest, and featured three reflecting pools, two comfortable lounging benches, one magnificent statue (of himself, naturally) and absolutely none of the Sacred Vine. Because of that last fact, this particular private garden was also the one place in all of his kingdom where his magic was the strongest. And because of _that_ pertinant fact, the little garden was also the single most dangerous place to practice any magic. The smallest spell might be magnified beyond his abilty to control it; a larger spell might bring the whole castle down around his ears. Anything could happen.

Scrying was safe enough. Usually. Oh, reception was murky enough at the best of times. Labyrinthaceae interfered with reception as a matter of course. Such things were to be expected. But in this little garden, King Jareth could pull forth images of Sarah so crystal-clear that it took no great leap of the imagination for him to feel her cheek, cupped in his palm; to smell the confusingly floral scent of her thick hair or the heady musk he might inhale from her neck, when their dancing had been especially vigorous. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it was a damn fine second. It had sustained him before. It could do so again. (Or so he told himself, not in the mood for any disagreement.) And of course, his hands were not broken, even if his heart was feeling rather bruised about the edges.

So he really _should_ have been enjoying a peaceful moment or two, but alas, the life of a king is often fraught with unexpected disturbances. No sooner had he reclined on his favorite bench, positioned his neatly-folded cloak _just so_ beneath his head, and carefully placed his gloves to one side, when there came the unmistakable sound of a furry throat being cleared not an arm's length behind his head.

He closed his eyes briefly, for patience's sake. "What _is_ it, Sir Didymus?"

The little fox, Royal Knight of the Labyrinth (and defacto head of the Order of the Sacred Vine), bounded forward and sketched a deep and heartfelt bow. "Forgive my intrusion, Sire, but I have news of the most urgent nature." His whiskers twitched with eagerness.

Jareth's eyes were still closed. He wasn't in the mood for enthusiasm just then. "If it's about the vine," he said wearily, "I already know. Hoggle will deal with it."

The small knight shook his head vigorously, his eyes gleaming with purpose. "Oh no, Your Majesty. That's not it at all. Not at all!" He gave a couple of lusty _yaps_ with a small _yip_ or two tossed in for good measure. Really, it was most wonderful to be back in service.

The king opened his eyes and turned his head slowly toward his subject. "And this doesn't concern goblins, correct?" There was nothing short of mass-extinction that could make _anything_ concering goblins into the sort of emergency requiring his immediate attention. Nothing.

Sir Didymus shook his furry head again. "Oh _no_, Sire. No sir, no. No indeed. No. No." He continued shaking his head, deciding to also throw in another bow or two for good measure. Just to be safe.

Jareth waited a moment, but when it became apparent that the little fox was not going to continue without further prompting, he gave a deep sigh and propped himself up on one elbow. "Well then?"

The knight stopped bobbing like a cork in water, and planted both paws firmly on the crushed-velvet cushion. "It's the Prince, Your Majesty. The Prince wants your help."

The Goblin King sat all the way up now, curious despite himself. "Hmm? Young Tobias? How have you seen him?"

Sir Didymus broke into a wide grin. "Why the whole castle has seen him, My Lord. Everyone!"

"Everyone?" Suspicion was flapping about like a wet blanket all over the Goblin King.

The little fox nodded. "Oh yes! Everyone! Prince Toby is Underground. He's in the castle, and he wants you to help him get back to Milady Sarah..." he paused, trying to remember something, then finally finished, "...for Christmas. He wants to surprise her for Christmas, and he needs your help! It's a noble desire, don't you think, Sire?"

But the bench was empty, his liege having abruptly disappeared in a swirl of half-seen glitter.

Whistling happily to himself, Sir Didymus turned back to the castle.


	6. Out of the Frying Pan

Toby was hyper as only a six-year-old on a sugar high can be.

He'd begun his day by throwing a truly spectacular temper tantrum; screaming, crying, kicking, and beating his hands on the ground had been involved. It was Oscar-worthy. By the time he was growing hoarse, his mom and dad were fed-up enough to do just as he'd hoped: they'd gone down to breakfast without him, leaving him alone in the hotel room. Sarah would have been horrified, but then she could hardly have expected better from a couple who would leave their crying infant with a sulky teenager.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind them, Toby had put the next phase of his plan into action. Working quickly, he had loaded his backpack with needed supplies: his favorite teddy bear, clean underwear, and the entire package of candy canes that his mom had hidden in her carry-on. He slipped on his lucky Spider-Man sneakers, pulled the Velcro tight, and looked around the room for his favorite baseball cap. Where was it?

His heart was pounding in his ears as he searched high and low for the wayward cap. He was sure that at any minute his parents would change there minds and come through the door. If that happened, his plan would fail. He'd be doomed to a Christmas with no Sarah, no goblins... and no Goblin King.

Faster. He had to move faster!

Finally he spied his beloved Yankees cap, snagged on the dusty ruffle beneath the bed. In a flash, it was on his head and he was slipping through the heavy door. The long corridor outside was dimly lit and smelled of floor polish and soap. It was a big place, but Toby had studied the layout in the picture on the back of their door- asking his dad questions when he didn't understand something - under the guise of fire-safety. Toby knew all about fire safety from school, where a cranky, fat fireman with sweaty armpits had shown them a filmstrip and then passed out lame, plastic fire chief hats as though they were still in preschool. Sheesh.

He kept his ears sharp, alert for any grown-up calling or in any way taking notice of him, but he needn't have worried. Other than an elderly man leaning heavily on a thick, wooden cane, Toby saw no one. He scurried to the end of the corridor, pushed through the fire door to the stairs, and scampered down to the main level with no adults the wiser. Once through the lower fire door, it was a simple matter to sneak across the lobby, duck down the vending hall and out the back door to the covered parking lot. The little brown sedan with the Mexican plates was right where his Dad had parked it yesterday afternoon. Now his plans hinged on one final thing...

His mom and dad disagreed about locks. His mom favored them, and had been known to lock his dad out accidentally on more than one occasion. His mom always locked the car doors, and carried her keys (and three duplicates) on little pink-and-lavender ribbons tucked inside her enormous purse. Far from home, in a strange country? His mom would never leave the car unlocked. Never. But...

...it was a rental car. Her duplicates were useless, and Toby had observed that there was only one set of keys given to his dad when they picked up the little car at the dingy rental desk outside the airport. His dad was the only one who had driven since their arrival yesterday, and his dad _never_ locked his car. Or his house, or anything else. Toby was banking that the rental car would be unlocked. He had stashed something important in the backseat, wedged deeply between the ugly plaid cushions where a gap revealed their ill-fitting nature. If only his mom hadn't come back and locked-up the now-empty rental...

Toby couldn't help but hold his breath as he reached for the door handle, lifted it, and - pulled. _Phew._ It opened! He breathed out his relief into the musty interior of the car. His hand plunged down between the cushions, bypassing crumbs, a gum wrapper, and finally closing around the item he sought - its hard, round shape protected by one of his dad's old socks. Toby squeezed it once for luck before dumping it out into his hands.

In his sweaty hands, the crystal sphere was smooth and cool. He stroked it lightly, afraid it might not work.

He'd knew Sarah used the spheres to call on King Jareth and the goblins, but could he? There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath, and looked hard into the sphere's depths.

"Hello? Is this thing working? Can anybody hear me?"

Silence, yawning wide in the fading light. His own heartbeat was the loudest sound, save for some distant chattering in Spanish from the stairwell across the lot. Toby felt a stab of fear. What if it didn't work?

"Please." He rubbed the crystal, leaning forward and fogging it with his breath; rubbing again. "Please, I want to go to the castle. I wish..." His eyes caught a spark, swirling lazily in the crystal's core. It was hazy-bright, like sunshine as seen through the window of a dark room. His voice grew firm. "I wish to go to the castle. I wish to visit the Labyrinth."

The spark flared, and Toby squeezed his eyes shut, careful not to drop the crystal. There was a rush of air and a sort of _tug_, right below his belly button. Something tickled his nose, and he sneezed. The air had changed, becoming cooler, more fragrant. He smelled straw and spice and something that could only be...

"Goblins!" Toby opened his eyes, smiling wide. Surrounding him, goblins of various sizes returned his grin.

* * *

Sarah moaned. The sheets of her (woefully single) bed twisted around her flailing limbs like morning glory around a fence-post ... or mistletoe. Sweat glued her to the mattress, and turned her hair into a mass of little garden snakes, writhing about her head. Her hands clutched at the pillow, at the bedding, at nothing at all.

_She was lost in a desert where the too-white sand scalded her eyes even as the ground burned her bare feet. It didn't matter. Her thoughts were consumed by thirst. Somewhere, she knew, somewhere there was water. If she could only find it. _

_She wandered, lost, directionless, no purpose outside of the consuming need to slake her thirst. The sun made her vision swim with bright spots, the heat worming its way beneath her skin. Desperate for relief, she shed shirt, jeans...even underwear as she wandered, keeping only her socks. _

_On the top of a hill of shifting sand, a spot of green caught her eye just ahead. _Oasis? It must be! _She quickened her pace, but her dust-dry throat seemed intent on choking her. Sand clogged the corners of her eyes, and plugged her nostrils. The lack of oxygen made her vision swim, finally driving her to her knees..._

"Sarah?" The voice was cool and smooth, like ice. Something shook her. Hard. "Wake up Sarah!"

Her eyes fluttered open, but the image they projected to her woozy brain made no sense. The King of the Goblins was bending over her, mismatched eyes dark with...anger? Or maybe passion? She giggled and attempted to sit. The room spun crazily and forced her back down. _Whoa._

The king's face leaned closer. Amusement flickered across his lean face, but the expression he settled into was stern. "What have we here, precious thing?" He lay a hand across her forehead like a parent checking for a temperature, and frowned.

Sarah giggled again. Her head felt like it might float away if he removed his hand. She arched her back, pressing into him. _Drunk, Sarah. You're drunk._ Except that wasn't possible, not on two sips of warm beer. She let her gaze linger on his face, trying again to make out his expression. _Passion,_ she finally decided, _definitely passion._ She pressed harder, and was rewarded by his other hand arriving on her hip, pushing her back down onto the bed. She grinned. _This was more like it!_ She twisted a bit and snaked one leg up and around his waist. "Jareth..."

The Goblin King's eyes widened, and for a moment it seemed as though he agreed with her assessment of the situation. His hand on her hip tightened its grip, fingers kneading her flesh through the thin material of her lounge pants. His other hand moved from her forehead to her cheek, tenderly stroking. The tip of his little finger approached her parted lips and traced little circles at their corners. Sarah moaned.

_Finally... _The tip of her tongue flicked out, licking his finger like a cat. Come to think of it, she _felt_ like a cat; like a _relaxed_ cat. Languorous. She let her hands wrap around the back of his head, her fingers teasing their way through his hair. "Jareth," she purred, rolling the "r" in a way that would have caused her sober self to retch. _G_ods, but she wanted_ him. How could she ever have thought that there could be anyone else but him? _ She tugged at his neck, willing him to go lower, pulling at him...

With a groan, the Goblin King wrenched himself away, breaking her grasp and pushing her away from him. He staggered backward off the bed, face ragged. "No, Sarah. Not like this."

Sarah felt the pain of his withdrawal like the blade of a knife drawn sharply across unprotected skin. There were no words. She blinked up at him, wincing as though stung. _He doesn't want me..._

"Sarah..." His voice shook, just a little. "It's the Vine." His eyes studied her face, reading the hurt and confusion written there. He gave a bitter laugh. "I'm afraid it's gone to your head." He shook his own sadly, a soft smile ghosting his lips. "It's the magic you want. Not me." He reached one hand out to cover her mouth when she would have protested, though the contact seemed to cause him pain. "As it turns out, there _is_ someone who wants you - very badly. In fact it is in acting to fulfill his wish that I am here; a happy coincidence, as it turns out."

Sarah struggled to grasp the meaning of his words, but she felt as though she were hearing them from underwater, and they didn't make sense.

Jareth sighed. "Once again, you will make me -"

Gi and Hoggle burst into the room and stopped dead at the sight of the Goblin King.

Gi's mouth dropped open, but her eyes were twinkling.

Hoggle's face was thunderous amidst its clouds of white hair. "Ha!" he cried, jabbing a fat forefinger at the Goblin King. "I _knew_ ye were responsible for this! What have ye done to her?"

Jareth's face took on a bemused expression. He sank down gracefully to a sitting position on the edge of Sarah's bed, carefully _not_ looking at its owner. "I'm sorry, my good fellow, but I fear we have not been introduced." He reached into the depths of his patchwork leather cloak and withdrew a trio of crystal spheres, letting them swim through his fingertips like fish through coral. "I'd take care of that little chore now," he said lazily, "but I'm afraid I must remove Sarah at once."

Sarah's vision had grown dim, and she lay staring at the ceiling as though it were the sky on a starry night.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Gi, placing one hand on Hoggle's shoulder when the little man looked as though he wanted to launch himself at the tall king.

Jareth smiled at her, and then launched the crystals into the air where they floated like soap bubbles, colors swirling within. "Nothing I can't fix, given a bit of time." He leaned forward and blew one crystal-bubble so that it swooped over Hoggle's head. "And once she's gone from here, _Mr. Vine_ should have no trouble at all with his gardening." He turned abruptly, sweeping up Sarah in his arms and springing to his feet in one smooth motion.

_Hot damn, _thought Gi, _where can I get me one of those?_

"Now wait just a bog-blamed minute..." began Hoggle, but it was too late. He groaned. When it came to the King of the Goblins, he was _always_ too late.

Gi squeezed his arm. "That's a neat trick. Where'd he take her? The Labyrinth?" She caught sight of Hoggle's expression and stopped. "What's the matter? Isn't this a good thing?"

Hoggle tried to ignore the warm feeling in his arm, tried to resist leaning into its source. This was no time to go soft in the head. He pulled himself away with a grimace. "Believe me, missy, that kind o' help we don't need." He sighed and left the room, playing a hunch. At the front door he paused, just briefly, before yanking it open.

Sure enough, the vines were already crumbling; green leaves going brown and brittle.

"Well I guess he was right," said Gi, coming up behind him. She poked a vine and it fell away at her touch. "Cleaning up this stuff should be no problem."

But Hoggle had a feeling that _his_ problems were just beginning.


	7. Into the Fire

"Sarah!" screamed Toby, abandoning the game of stack-the-chickens he was playing with some goblins in a corner of the throne room. He launched himself into her arms, almost knocking her over. "I _knew_ King Jareth would bring you. I knew it!"

Sarah smiled and hugged him tight, but it clearly took serious effort for her to remain standing. At her side, the Goblin King anchored her with an arm firmly tucked beneath her shoulders, pressing on her back. "Toby," she whispered, stroking his hair.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah! What did you get me?" Toby pulled away to jump excitedly up and down. His small, sneaker-clad feet stirred up clouds of dust and chicken feathers and caused many smaller goblins to quickly scuttle backward lest they be stomped upon.

"I -"

"I got you something! Want to see?" Toby raced over to a fat, squatting goblin with tufts of mud-colored fur sprouting out of it in very unusual places. The goblin had Toby's backpack looped around one arm and was nibbling experimentally on the straps. "Excuse me, Furpot," said Toby politely, snatching the somewhat soggy pack and gingerly unzipping it. Dozens of eyes watched him as he rummaged inside, tongue pushed beneath his upper lip in concentration. "Ah ha!" he said at last.

The Goblin King had escorted Sarah to his throne, it being the only real seat in the overcrowded room. Once he saw her settled and was sure she would not fall out, he turned to Toby. "Tobias," he said, in a tone that instantly hushed the other occupants of the room, "Sarah is unwell. I want you to stay with her here while I...take care of a few things." He removed his long coat and turned back to drape it over Sarah, who had slumped down against the side of the mammoth seat and appeared to be sleeping.

Toby bounced over to them, a small bag clutched in his hand. "Look, Sarah, I got -" He stopped next to the throne, eyes going wide. He looked up at the Goblin King, now perched as improbably as a cat on one of the chair's long, curved sides. "Is she okay?"

Jareth looked down his long nose at the small boy, and barred his teeth in a wicked grin. "Come now, Tobias. Why the worry? You don't imagine that the Lord of the Labyrinth would let any harm come to your sister, do you?" His fierce expression was somewhat ruined by the broad wink he offered.

Toby shook his head solemnly. "She doesn't trust you, and she says things aren't always what they seem in this place."

Jareth cocked his head to one side as though considering Toby's words. One hand reached up and twisted a piece of long, white-gold hair around one finger in a gesture so reminiscent of Sarah when she studied that Toby had to giggle.

The Goblin King smiled -warmly this time- and his gaze moved to the sleeping woman. "As it so happens, she's right, but nevertheless..." He reached down and gently moved a strand of hair away from her face. "...I swear to you that no harm will come to her while she is in my kingdom." He turned back to Toby. "What say you? Fair?"

It was Toby's turn to consider. "Well, you _did_ promise me that you'd try to bring Sarah here for Christmas..." He reached out and gently patted his sister on the arm. "So...all right." With a grin, he wheeled about and plunged back into the mass of chattering goblins, intent on more rambunctious fun.

Jareth swept his gaze over the throng, nodded to himself, and faded from sight.

Toby played intently, though every few minutes he detached himself from his friends and checked on his sister.

Curled in the ivory throne, Sarah slept on.

* * *

Hoggle swept the last piece of crumbled Vine into the large dustpan that Gi held for him. He still couldn't believe it had been that easy.

Gi straightened, letting the pan sit on the floor. She stretched her arms high over her head and smiled at her cranky companion. "This calls for something. A celebration."

Hoggle snagged the dustpan and emptied it into a black, plastic garbage bag. Putting garden clippings in plastic made no sense - like studding burr-beetle dung with crystal. No wonder the Goblin King didn't want to spend much time Above; this world was crazier than his second cousin's pet pinch-worm.

While he worked, he watched the blue-haired girl from beneath his bushy eyebrows. He was struck by a sudden vision of the two of them in his garden back home, sipping warm ale beneath the flowering Fairy-Bane; Gi barefoot and laughing. His eyes wandered down to the vicinity of her ankles, sadly hidden beneath the long hem of her jeans. He couldn't help but wonder... "What?" He blinked and looked up.

Gi grinned. "I _said_...this calls for a celebration. Let's go get donuts! What do you say?"

Hoggle was still trying to piece together her meaning. The vision of her in the Labyrinth kept getting in his way, confusing him. "Donuts?" he said.

Gi gently pried the garbage bag from his hands and set it beside the door. Grabbing her purse off the hook she took his arm and steered him outside. "My treat. You'll love 'em. Go great with coffee."

Hoggle allowed himself to be led, still feeling bewildered. "Coffee?"

* * *

The King of the Goblins crouched like a cat at the rim of the pit. Sweat dripped from his forehead and other exposed areas, pooling in the hollow of his throat and eventually running downward, plastering his loose shirt to his torso. He couldn't have removed his breeches if he'd tried.

He was deep below the castle in a place the goblins called _C'em-re-tog_: the cesspool of magic. It was as hot as a furnace, but unlike true fire, the heat generated within its rosy depths did little to purify. Instead, it collected the refuse of tens of thousands of little magics, hoarding them, blending them, _melting_ them together until their original form was lost. Nothing lived down here, save one plant whose creeping tendrils traced their collective roots to deep within its fiery bowels: The Sacred Vine kept the fire fed, drawing out magic wherever it bloomed and delivering it via deep and twisted channels to the source of its life -to the pit itself.

Once, years ago, he had drawn on that pool of elemental magic. He'd thought to go unnoticed, skimming off the thinnest of layers and spinning it into shimmering thread which he'd then gifted to...a friend.

It hadn't ended well.

Though the magic had lain dormant in Sarah for half a dozen years, it had eventually awoken and when it did, it took a shape that the King of the Goblins had not -could not- have predicted. The resulting imbalance had threatened to destroy the Labyrinth and all its denizens and only by stripping Sarah of her magic had that balance been restored*...or so he'd believed.

It would seem now that once again, he'd been too hasty in his conclusions.

He was faced with an impossible task: he must locate and destroy the branch of Labyrinthaceae that had somehow managed to snake its way Above. Failing that, there was only one option.

If the Sacred Vine could not be severed from Sarah's world then he would have no choice. He would have to keep her Underground - with him -forever.

* * *

Sarah fought to wake.

Her dreams had been saturated with depravity and magic, pain and pleasure, and they clung to her conscious mind like sticky, black tar, sucking her backward into nightmarish oblivion. And there were whispers...

_Nobody wants to be on the bottom...Shiny! Ooh, so shiny!... Raise 'er up, c'mon...watch 'er feet!_

Sarah moaned, twisting violently in the throne. The Goblin King's coat slid to the floor, covering two small goblins that had fallen asleep at the foot of the great seat. It was deep night, and most in the crowded room now slept, including two sentries posted at the door who leaned one against the other, their snores coming in great waves which shook them in their armor. Toby had kept watch as long as his eyes would let him, but eventually his lids grew heavier and heavier until he collapsed in a weary heap amidst some of his furrier subjects.

_Don't let go!... Look out!...Hold her! Hold her!...Easy, easy...make it good..._

"Let go!" Sarah's eyes flew open even as her body was rolling sideways, falling from the high seat to land on a lumpy pile which groaned, lurched and finally sneezed.

Sarah threw herself backwards, narrowly avoiding cracking her head on the raised dais. Her eyes were wild, only half-focused on the room before her, but still half in her dream as well. Her hands scraped along her arms as though trying to dislodge dozens of invisible hands, while her head shook back and forth, hair whipping into a tangle.

"Sarah!" Toby woke, roughly shoving aside a blanket of goblin limbs in his haste to reach his sister's side. "Sarah, it's okay...Sarah!"

But with a fierce cry and a wild expression, Sarah lurched forward, stumbling to her feet and pushing past goblins -some sleeping and some painfully woken by the jabs of their brethren as they attempted to get out of her way - to throw herself against the heavy wood of the throne room doors. The latch was old, and largely ornamental; it held for a moment or two, then gave way beneath the pressure of her fists and arms, opening wide and spilling her into the darkness beyond.

Toby was hampered by his small size and the confusion of half-asleep goblins all climbing over each other and falling backward onto the floor.

"Move! Let me through!" Sleep gone, fun forgotten, an increasingly agitated Toby finally managed to clamber atop a large goblin and use its shoulders as a springboard to launch himself onto another, equally large goblin. In this fashion, moving from goblin to goblin, he eventually made his way to the gaping doorway. "Sarah!"

Beyond the threshold of the throne room, the outer antechamber was wreathed in inky shadows; only one tiny candle, flickering in a frosted wall sconce, provided light. Toby, ever fearful of the dark, hung back, loathe to enter. "Sarah!" he wailed again, and his lower lip trembled.

Again and again he called, but there was no answer.

She was gone.

* * *

***Author's Note: **These events were recounted in "Easter Parade"; click on my profile page to find a direct link to this story and earlier installments.


	8. Oh no, not again!

Hoggle belched, leaned back in the uncomfortably hard (yet shockingly valuable!) plastic booth and patted his round, red-clad stomach. "Ooh, me achin' belly."

Despite his professed discomfort, he nevertheless reached for another chocolate-frosted donut and plopped it into his mouth. Then came another belch, which elicited a laugh from his companion.

"You _are_ supposed to chew them, you know." Gi reached for another donut, demonstrating by neatly biting it into quarters. "Do you want some more coffee, Mr. Vine?" She indicated his empty styrofoam cup and grinned through a mouth full of crumbs.

Hoggle shook his head. He wasn't sure what was _in_ coffee exactly, but he felt like his eyebrows were buzzing and he had a feeling he wouldn't sleep for a week. He eyed the last donut, but then thought better of it. One couldn't be too careful with these crazy Aboveground inventions. He considered the garish sprinkles that dotted the frosting; what made color that bright? It was disturbing- -tasty, but disturbing.

"Well c'mon then." Gi snatched up the last donut and ate it, licking the frosting from her fingers before grabbing the now-empty box and carrying it to the trash can. She stood at the door, one hand on a hip, smiling at her bemused friend.

Hoggle's eyes had tracked every movement of her hands, from donut to mouth and back again. Pink suffused what small part of his face was visible beneath heavy white hair and crept down his limbs, even to his thick-fingered hands.

Oh, but the great Sky King had surely made an error with her. Surely she was meant to be a dwarf, like him. He glanced down at himself, now temporarily transformed into a fat, round human. _Well,_ he thought sheepishly, _like I usually is, anyway..._

He smiled back shyly, then levered himself up and out of his slightly-too-narrow seat. _Say somethin', eejit. Fairy got yer tongue?_ But faced with Gi's sparkling blue eyes- -the same, improbable shade as her hair- -he was rendered curiously mute.

She held the door for him as he stepped out into the frigid December air. It was shockingly cold.

Sir Didymus had once tried to explain seasons to Hoggle, but the little fox's descriptions of "cold" versus "not-quite-cold" versus "not-quite-hot" versus "hot" had not really registered with the crusty dwarf. In the Labyrinth, all days felt pretty much the same. Unless something upset the balance of magic, temperatures were usually firmly planted in the sunny patch of "just right".

Hoggle thought he had a better idea of seasons now. He craned his neck up to look at the sky as Gi ushered him into the passenger side of her car. It was incredible that such sunny blueness could hang above air so breathtakingly cold. _Brrr._

The drive back to Gi and Sarah's apartment was quiet, save for the occasional gasp from Hoggle when the scenery outside his window got moving a bit too fast for his liking. At a kindly suggestion from Gi, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the remainder of his trip much more.

Any other day he would probably have slept, lulled by the motion, but today his caffeinated blood hummed in his ears, keeping him awake. To pass the time- -and because his powers of speech seemed to have deserted him- - he hummed a little tune, tapping the fingers of one hand lightly against the door handle to keep the rhythm. He got so caught up in the melody that he failed to notice the car had stopped moving until Gi leaned over and shook him gently. "Huh?" He started and looked around, embarrassed.

Gi hid a smile by turning her head quickly away, taking the opportunity to climb out of the car. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Vine."

Hoggle fumbled a bit with the door latch, muttering beneath his breath. Finally, it released and he pushed out into the snow. It lay thick on the driveway, Sarah having missed her turn at shoveling. He looked up, suddenly anxious that Gi shouldn't see him struggling. Much to his relief, she wasn't watching him at all, but instead had forged ahead toward the house, leaving nice, wide tracks for him to follow.

"Mr. Vine," she called, "come and take a look at this, will you?" She was squatting down near the steps that led up to the front door. The old house didn't have a porch, just a wooden stoop in desperate need of a coat of paint.

"Call me Hoggle," muttered Hoggle, but too low for her to hear. He tromped after her, wondering what she had found.

At first, he didn't see anything. Gi was bent over the side of the first step, where snow had drifted thickly, pushed by the winds that swept the front yard. Noting his arrival, she scooched backward, letting him see what she had uncovered.

Hoggle crouched down beside her, squinting as something on the ground flashed in his eyes. "What the..."

"Isn't that the same stuff you just got rid of?"

Hoggle leaned closer, nose almost in the snow. A patch about the size of his head had been disturbed, perhaps by birds or squirrels, and right in its center sprouted a tendril of Labyrinthaceae. It was heavy with berries that caught the sun, but its deep green leaves drooped.

He reached down and yanked it out. "Bah! It's back. I should've known." He threw it hard against the house, and kicked snow over the spot where it had sprung up. "That's just peachy." He looked up at Gi.

The blue-haired girl was no longer smiling. "It's the same stuff, right? The vine that was hurting Sarah?"

Hoggle nodded. "The Sacred Vine, we calls it Underground..."

Gi broke in quickly, "Underground? I thought you said you weren't- -"

"I meant that's what we calls it when it's _under the ground_, see?" He wouldn't meet her eyes, fixing his own on the newly covered place where the plant-in-question had recently been. He hocked and spat, disgusted both with himself and his lot in life.

"I thought it was drawn to magic. With Sarah gone..." Gi let the question hang in the air like smog.

"It is." He stood up and stretched, scratching his long beard with thick fingers nearly frozen with cold.

"Well then..._Hoggle_..." Gi emphasized his true name, then kept speaking, "...what's drawing it now?"

"I'm not..." _Hoggle_, he started to say, then muttered and spat instead. _What's 'e going to do to me, anyways? Ain't no bog here..._ His face was grim. "I don't know, but we'd better find out."

* * *

Sarah stumbled through the corridors of the great Castle Beyond the Goblin City, moving from puddle of light to deep pool of shadows and back again.

_Great googly-moogly,_ she thought, _you'd think they would do something about these tilting floors..._

Her head felt both fuzzy and painful, as though it were a pin-cushion through which several sharp needles had been pushed. Her stomach lurched with every step, reminding her unpleasantly of the time she lost track of the number of wine coolers handed to her by well-meaning frat boys... _Yeah, think about something else, Sarah._

She had only the vaguest recollection of how she came to be in the castle. She thought Hoggle had been involved, and possibly Toby too; if the walls would stop moving, she might be able to remember. One thing that _did_ stand out in her memory was the Goblin King bending over her, touching her.

She stopped, remembering his face, his voice. Is that who she was looking for? She stood still, considering. It did seem to her that she was, indeed, looking for something, only she hadn't really been thinking about it; she'd just been acting on instinct.

She looked around. The part of the castle she was walking through was familiar, but she suspected that was only because all the passageways looked pretty much the same. She passed many doors, all closed, but no windows or alternate corridors.

_Something...there was something she should be noticing, but what?_ If only her brain didn't feel splintered in two...

And then she realized what it was: she'd been walking in a straight line the whole time, no turns, no stairways, no branches, no nothing. It just went on and on and...

_Wait a minute. Maybe it doesn't! Maybe I'm simply taking it for granted that it does!_ A wave a deja vu swept over her, accompanied by a strong desire to start running. She lurched forward, making one, two, three long strides before she nausea jumped her and pushed her to the floor.

_Oh, Gods. I can't do it again..._ On her hands and knees now, she put her head down against the cold flagstones and waited for the nausea to pass. _I will NOT vomit. I will NOT..._

"Lady?" The voice came from behind, soft and somewhat ragged, like the speaker was not used to speech.

Sarah gingerly raised her head and slowly turned it to see a goblin crone in an ash-grey cloak standing beside her. The crone was smiling at her through a mouth full of snaggly teeth set in a face that was wrinkled and brown like the pit of a peach.

"Lost, are ye dearie?" The crone leaned forward, squinting through small, bright eyes that were black as obsidian. "That's a wee fair spell you've got on ye. You'll never find your way wearing _that..._" The crone rummaged in a burlap sack that she wore tied on a rope around her waist. "Hmm? No...hrmm...oh! There we go now." She drew out her hand and waved something under Sarah's nose.

Sarah immediately began to sneeze. A burning sensation filled her nostrils and sent fire behind her eyes, making them water. Her stomach, already taxed to its limit, recoiled at the movement and gave a mighty heave, causing her to throw up again and again, gasping and retching until there was nothing more.

And beside her, the goblin crone made "tsk"-ing noises and stroked Sarah's sweaty hair.

Sarah collapsed onto her side, rolling to avoid the mess she had made. She no longer wanted to find Jareth. She no longer wanted to find anybody. She just wanted to curl up and die.

"Ooh," she moaned, as another spasm sent a lance of pain driving up through her skull. "What did you do?"

"There now, dearie. Ol' Mags just be givin' ye a bit o' help." The crone cackled, not unkindly, and helped Sarah into a sitting position.

Sarah leaned against the rough stones of the castle wall and rubbed her head, willing the pain to subside. "Help? That was help? I'd hate to see what you'd do if you were trying to _hurt_ me!" She took a deep breath, forcing calm into her thoughts. "How exactly did that help me?"

"Well jus' look around. You'll see quick enough." The crone gave Sarah a pat on the head and then stepped back, clearly waiting.

Sarah allowed herself the luxury of an exasperated groan, then carefully turned her aching head to take stock of her surroundings. Subtle changes had occurred: now she could see windows- -narrow and deeply set- -through which watery moonlight filtered; looking back the way she had come, she could see deep wells of shadow that she suspected now hid alternate paths, corridors both small and wide; looking forward she saw more of the suspect blackness, more doorways- -open now like gaping mouths- -and something sticking up out of the floor, almost beyond the limit of her sight, that looked like a post of some kind.

"What's that?" Sarah indicated the post, waving in its general direction from her seated position. She wasn't ready to try standing just yet.

The crone sniffed. "Oh that? Jus' a marker, dearie. Nothin' for ye to worry your pretty little head over."

_Which guarantees I'll do just that. _"Marker? For what?" _Sure, I'll bite._

The crone sniffed again, louder this time, and scratched herself beneath an armpit with one claw-like hand. "C'em-re-tog. You don't want to go down there, lady-girl. Dangerous place, that."

Sarah had the distinct feeling that the old goblin did indeed want her to do just that. _Let's test this out..._

She climbed slowly to her feet, surprised to find that her head was clearing, the pain subsiding. With the cheeriest smile she could manage, she said, "Well I'll just go back this way then and see if I can't find the goblin king." Giving the crone a little wave, she started back the way she had come.

"Wait, dearie!"

Sarah hadn't gone more than two steps when the wizened goblin- -moving faster than Sarah would have thought possible- -came after her, grabbing her arm.

"Yer supposed to go _that_ way, me lass." She pointed toward the post.

Sarah affected a bewildered expression. "But you said _that_ way was dangerous?" _And Gi said I had no talent for acting!_ She swayed a little on her feet, just for fun.

"Ach, dearie. Don't ye know anything? Things aren't always- -"

Sarah didn't wait for her to finish. "I know, I know. Things aren't always what they seem, blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all before." She frowned down at her companion who was still clutching her arm. "How about you just tell me where Jareth is, okay?"

The crone cackled and released her, black eyes gleaming. "I already did, dearie. He's in C'em-re-tog, waiting for ye."


	9. Chchchanges

Waiting. It seemed he was always waiting for something, whether it was his lady-love, Sarah, or merely the crystal moon in its changeless path across the velvet sky; waiting was ever his lot.

Jareth, only son of a forgotten king, granted himself the minor indignity of reclining against the smooth, cool stone of the cavern wall. The cold pulled the heat from his skin, giving him ease, clearing his head. He knew Sarah was close. It was a thought that excited him even as he found it wearying. How much longer would he have to dance with her, hold her close, smell her fragrance, feel the silky strands of her hair against his face, all the while knowing it was as ephemeral as the flowers Labyrinthacae produced seasonally. Such torture made light of the much smaller punishments inflicted on his goblins, and put their king in a very foul mood indeed.

And yet... such moods were a luxury, and one he could ill afford at present. With a grimace, he shrugged it off.

Down here in the depths of C'em-re-tog, magic was uneasy; it _itched_. It coiled restlessly over and under itself, relentlessly seeking egress. Thin veins hummed through the walls, through the floor, and tunneled up through the ceiling toward the world above, and twisting around and sometimes through those veins ran the roots of Labyrinthacae itself, endlessly delivering the remnants of magics big and small.

Somewhere in that swirling pit, the silver fire he had pulled from Sarah blended with the leavings from the goblin brewery (slogan: It's the magick!). The sharp remnants from thousands of crystals melted with the sap from his private fruit trees into a mess both hot, sticky, and utterly vital to the health of his kingdom.

And its monarch.

As his excruciatingly irritating dwarven gardener would say: _Aye, there's the rub._

He sighed again, dramatically, perversely wishing for an audience that would appreciate his dilemma. Not that there was any such thing to be found in the Labyrinth, goblins being more fond of straight-up comedy than determinedly ironic drama. Having his hand forced regarding Sarah was something he could never find amusing. It would most assuredly ruin all of his carefully-laid plans, and ensure that she would once again view him as a two-dimensional villain, ruled by ego alone.

_If only there were another way..._

This time she wouldn't think he was trying to kill her. No, this time, it would be so much worse.

* * *

As Sarah drew near to the awkwardly-angled post, a small opening at its base revealed itself to be a narrow stairway winding down into blackness. The steps themselves were roughly hewed from the rock beneath the castle, and had clearly been sized with goblin feet in mind. Sarah placed her own feet carefully, and still had to brace her arms against the walls, palms flat against smooth, damp stone, to keep herself from slipping.

Damn, she hated confined spaces.

She moved slowly but steadily, anxious to reach the base -wherever that might be. She'd thought at first that the stairway was pitch black, but as her eyes adjusted, she found that she could see, albeit not well. The walls seemed to have thin filaments of light - like the fiber-optic cables inside the tacky Christmas tree Gi had bought for their apartment - running through them. It was enough for her to see her feet, thank God.

_That's all I need, _thought Sarah as she moved, placing her feet as carefully as she could, gasping a bit when she misjudged the width of one particularly narrow step. _If I break my neck here, I'll never see him again._

Toby. She was thinking about Toby.

Mostly.

_Shake it off, Sarah. _Just keep moving. Surely she must be nearing the bottom by now. How far down had Jareth taken her last time? The time he nearly..._no, don't think about that. Not now. _The air was growing warmer, wasn't it? And maybe a bit brighter? The threads of light in the walls seems to be growing thicker, or maybe just more numerous. She could see a bit ahead of herself, though the stairs continued to wind in a tight spiral as though built in a hollow cylinder of rock.

Moments later she noticed a kind of low hum, deep notes rising and falling, curiously muted. Her fingertips, still on the rock walls, picked up a vibration that matched the sound. Heart beginning to pound, she picked up her pace as best she could. Something about that sound made her nervous -too many movies about cave-ins maybe, though the walls here seemed sturdy enough. Still, she began to be overcome by the feeling that there wasn't _quite_ enough air to breath. Sweat began to form under her arms, and her head began to pound in time with her feet.

_Come on, come on!_ Where was the end? Could this be another illusion? Had she been passing by openings all the way down? But no, not with her hands on the walls. It was impossible; she would have noticed. Wouldn't she?

And just like that, she reached the bottom.

At least, she was pretty sure it was the bottom.

Probably.

The stairs came to an abrupt end at a rusty iron door with a garish, copper knocker -oversized and crafted to resemble a crowned fox with a scepter in its teeth.

"Huh," said Sarah, reaching for the scepter. "If you open onto more stairs I am most definitely going to cry...or scream...or both." She pulled it forward and it moved smoothly, the metal oddly warm in her hand. With a _thunk_ she let it fall back against the door; once, twice, three times.

The door remained closed.

Of all the possible outcomes, the door simply not opening had not occurred to her. Of course it would open. It _had_ to open. Hadn't the goblin crone said that Jareth was waiting for her? It's not like she could have taken a wrong turn...

"Come _on_," said Sarah, forgoing the knocker now and pounding directly on the door with her fists. "What the hell is the..." Her voice dwindled into silence as her eye caught on another protuberance shaped like a rabbit's tail and placed conveniently at mid-hip level: a doorknob.

"Oh, no," she whispered, "it couldn't be _that_ easy..." Her fingers grasped the tail and turned...

...and the door swung open with the barest hind of a creak. With a sigh for patience, Sarah stepped through.

"Stupid to have a knocker if the door is unlocked anyway," she mumbled, but silence was her only reply.

* * *

Hoggle had followed Gi back into the house, but once inside he stood around awkwardly, not sure what to do. Gi had excused herself to use the bathroom, instructing Hoggle to "make himself at home", a phrase one would _never_ hear uttered Underground because it would be construed as, essentially, an invitation to move right in and make said home one's own.

Somehow he was pretty sure that's not what she meant. Still, he decided it couldn't hurt to poke around the tiny kitchen and maybe help himself to a cup or two of ale. He hoped he could find some that wasn't being kept in that shiny ice-box with the light inside, and with that end in mind he began opening cupboards and drawers, reaching up as high as he could one moment and then bending down so far that his backside bumped the counter behind him in the narrow space. He swore briefly but meaningfully when a pile of pot lids cascaded down onto the floor, cursing his clumsiness in this new body whose center of gravity was not where he was used to.

"Mr. Vine?" called out Gi, still in the bathroom. "Are you all right? What was that noise?"

Hoggle frantically stuffed the lids back into the cupboard and shoved the door closed with his hip. "Um...nothin'! Everything's fine out here! Jus' lookin' around!" The cupboard door bulged against him, and he gave it one last, vicious shove before daring to step away. Thankfully, it held. With a sigh, Hoggle retreated from the kitchen, choosing a comfortable-looking armchair in the living room to collapse into instead. Maybe Gi could find the ale when she came out.

But when Gi finally emerged from the bathroom, all thoughts of ale vanished from Hoggle's head. Sweat erupted on his forehead in response to a heat that swept him all at once, head to toe.

"A...ah..." gasped Hoggle, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them and making them water; his vision blurred. He blinked, rubbed a damp sleeve across his face, and blinked again. Viewed through the haze, his hostess, blue hair gleaming in the brassy light from the overhead fixtures, was clad only in a smile.

"What is it? What do you need?" A soft hand reached out and touched Hoggle lightly on the shoulder.

A great shudder shook his body, a spasm that made his very bones feel as though they were cracking and shifting, twisting beneath his skin. He lurched backward, his body rising from the chair, and slipped down hard onto the floor. "A... _ale!_" gasped Hoggle. "Please." He rubbed his eyes again with an arm gone painfully stiff and knobby; his knuckles felt swollen and his skin tight and leathery.

Gi stepped to one side, leaning down and around him to rummage in a paper bag tucked beneath the setee. "Sarah _never_ remembers to restock the fridge. Here we go." She pulled back with two garishly labeled bottles and dropped one gently into Hoggle's lap.

Hoggle clutched it like a lifeline, afraid to look up.

"Were you expecting that, Mr. V...Hoggle?"

He did raise his eyes then, prepared to look only at her face, but on its way there his gaze managed to take note of the fact that she was indeed, attired. She had changed into a short pale robe that perfectly matched her skin tone. It covered her decently, but somehow still managed to leave very little to the imagination -not that he had much of one anyway. He swallowed, raised the still-capped bottle to his mouth, then set it back down sheepishly when no liquid emerged. On the cusp of opening it, he registered her question. "Expecting what?"

Gi deftly twisted off her own cap and took a hearty swig. She was sitting on the floor across from him, feet tucked beneath her. The smile she gave him was wide and kind. "That's your real body, isn't it? I remember from the mirror."

"Wuh?" Hoggle was torn between wrestling with the bottle cap and studying the strangely familiar fingers that grasped the bottle's neck. Could it be? He stopped fighting with his ale and looked down at his bottle. The bright red tunic and leggings that Jareth had dressed him in following his transformation to a fat human now sagged over his limbs. He snaked a hand up to pat his chin, pulling it back sharply as though burned when his fingers encountered not the heavy whiskers he had expected, but his very own, leathery bare skin. The bottle slipped unheeded from his now slack hands as shock drained the last of his energy. He sunk down in the chair as though it were the Bog itself, sucking him in. "It's true," he whispered, and felt his heart clench within his chest. _How did 'e know? How did 'e know the very moment when changin' me back would hurt the most..._

"Hoggle? Are you okay?" Gi picked up his (thankfully) unbroken bottle, opened it, and pressed it into his hands. "Drink this; you'll feel better."

She hovered over him like a mother goblin until he had managed a hearty swig, then resumed her seat, face watchful and intent on his.

Hoggle realized she expected him to say something, but his throat, despite the ale, felt sticky and thick. He cleared it experimentally, then chased that with another gulp. "I'm fine," he said curtly, then leavened his short words with a small smile. "Jus' hurt more'n I expected."

Gi seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Her face was luminous above her own bottle, which was almost empty. "So you were expecting to change back. I wasn't sure..." She cocked her head like a little bird, watching him carefully.

Hoggle waved a hand carelessly in the air between them. "O' course, o' course. It's time, that's all. You didn't think 'ed leave me here forever, did ye?"

Gi's face fell. "You're leaving? Now?"

Hoggle dropped his eyes, studying his bottle instead. "Well very soon, I imagine." He let out a long sigh, and shifted his bottle from one hand to the other. "It's me busy season, ye know." It was odd though, when he thought about it, which he really rather wouldn't, but still...

"What about the vine? Isn't it likely still here?"

Hoggle just shook his head, his thoughts all a-tumble like yearlings on a rock pile. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Outside, the wind shifted and snow began to fall. At the front windows, the curtains twitched as though from a sudden gust. The sun went into hiding behind a thick mountain of steely gray clouds, prompting the automatic streetlights to pop on although it was still a good hour before sunset. Between the wind and the sudden dark, Hoggle felt anxiety creeping like a tendril of Labyrinthacae along his spine. His eyes kept sidling across the room to the high window, then back to the shadowy foyer and finally to his own restless hands. He took a swig of ale, barely tasting it. It wouldn't be long now, he could feel it in his bones.

Another swig. He waited.


End file.
